Mismatch
by Galiko
Summary: Everyone seems to have a different point of view when it comes to Akashi. Within the Generation of Miracles, it certainly is the most wide and varied-and so, extrapolations on each. Mostly AkaMido, NijiAka, MibuAka, and MuraAka if you really squint.


Akashi sets Aomine's teeth on edge.

It isn't that Akashi tells him to do things-it's _how_ he tells him to do things, and Aomine already knows damn _well_ what to do.

"Are you my fucking mother?" Aomine irritably asks him one day, to which Akashi blinks up (really far up, Aomine's only consolation) at him, and tilts his head.

"No. I believe by most standards, our 'team mom' is-"

"Never mind. I'm gonna just… go run laps."

"That would be for the best."

At least he doesn't have to listen to Akashi when he's running (except when Akashi is telling him how to run more efficiently).

"Akashi-kun makes everything make more sense, though," Kuroko says to him one day, infuriatingly logical. "That's why I like him. I don't see why he bothers you so much, Aomine-kun."

"He's just-" Aomine waves a hand in frustration. "It's the _way_ he says things. Like he's looking down over his nose-"

"He can't possibly be looking down at you, Aomine-kun," Kuroko gravely interrupts, and Aomine sort of chokes on his soda before it comes up his nose.

"Shit, Tetsu. I didn't mean literally."

"But you technically did."

Kuroko's logic and inability to function without having the last word is annoying, too, but Aomine likes it. He's not sure _why_ Akashi is so different, why he grates on his nerves so much until later, when Teikou's team starts to break apart, when they're bickering amongst themselves and Akashi watches them from the sidelines, one eye a little off-color (or is that the light?). _That_ is when Aomine realizes why Akashi _grates_ on him: he doesn't want them to get along. He doesn't _want_ that perfect, idolized team. He wants to be the captain of individuals that all rely on _him_, and there's no way in hell that Aomine wants to serve someone with a mindset like that (he doesn't want to rely on anyone, doesn't _need_ to).

They're all fucking butterflies in a web to Akashi, anyway-fluttering and ready to be sucked dry as he sees fit, tossed aside when their juice runs out. If Aomine has anything to say about it, his will never run out, even if it's just to spite the little shit.

Kise Ryouta has never known terror like the redheaded 173 centimeters that is Akashi Seijuurou.

Sports are supposed to be fun. They're supposed to be exciting and challenging, and for once, basketball is just that. Honestly, he's _fine_ with all the teasing and pushing around that the typical 'new guy' gets on a sports team. That isn't what makes Akashi terrifying.

It's the fear of _disappointing him_.

Akashi has a way of looking right through a person, and it makes Kise nervous on the court. He has a way of pointing out all of Kise's flaws so directly that it makes him feel like the _worst_ player on the court, even when he knows he isn't. At first, he has to wonder why Akashi doesn't do that to Kuroko-what the hell is he, the golden child? the team baby? the team _dog?_ they're all too easy on Kuroko, all of them!-but after awhile, it's easy to see why _he_ is the one being harassed.

He's the one not doing his job.

Kuroko does exactly why he's told to do. His passes never miss, his misdirection never fails. _Kise_ is the one that misses shots when he begs for the ball, and that's why he is always under Akashi's scrutiny.

It's terrifying (exhilarating), not being perfect at something for once.

"Why doesn't Akashicchi ever come with us after school?" Kise absently asks as he sucks on his popsicle, leaning back onto the bike rack in front of the 7/11. "Even Midorimacchi is here…"

"What do you mean, _even?_"

"Midorima-kun doesn't exactly act like he would enjoy the company of others," Kuroko sagely offers, and Midorima looks ready to stab him in the eye with his own popsicle stick.

"Akashi has far better things to do than spend time with you lot," Midorima stiffly informs them. "As do I. Have a good afternoon."

"Ahh, you did it now, Kisee."

"Mido-chin is mad."

"Kise-kun is the worst."

"Look, Ki-chan, you made him stomp away!"

"It wasn't even me, it was Kurokocchi!" Kise protests to deaf ears, and wonders if it isn't Akashi whom he should really be afraid of after all, but instead, the owner of those big, innocent blue eyes.

He takes that back come the next game, when he misses a layup and Akashi's gaze bores into him the entire rest of the time. _Improve, and soon. The way you're playing now won't win._

More than anything, Kise wants to win (wants everyone to like him because he's won).

Akashi is _familiar. _

Their families go a long way back, or so he's heard his parents say from day one. Murasakibara remembers being taller than him even in elementary school, and awkward and long-legged to boot, which immediately garnered teasing.

Akashi had stood up for him, even then. In a lot of school-related things, Akashi has helped a lot, actually-in particular, when it comes to taking tests. "But I don't _care_, so what's the _point _of remembering it all?" Murasakibara half-whines around a potato chip, shrugging on the spare sweater in his size that Akashi keeps in his own locker, just because Murasakibara forgets it every other week.

"Good test scores are paramount for your future, Atsushi. Look, I'll show you how to study. You'll remember everything for the tests and it will be fine."

Murasakibara believes him. He's used to Akashi, and all of the things that he does and suggests and always, he's right, and it works out for the best.

(Most importantly, he remembers Akashi firmly shoving his own lunch into Murasakibara's hands when he had sullenly informed the smaller boy that he hadn't eaten breakfast and wasn't eating lunch because he didn't _want_ to get any taller and this was the only way because the doctor had said he _had to eat to keep growing strong_ and he didn't _want_ to get stronger or any of that. "Just get taller and stronger and play basketball with me," Akashi had told him, all but prying Murasakibara's mouth open with his fingers to shove a perfectly crafted tuna roll into his mouth. "The taller you are, the better.")

(Akashi was right about that, too, and Murasakibara never forgets it-especially the _play basketball _with_ me_ part, which is why he remains stubbornly unmoving on the bench during their first Inter High tournament, watching Rakuzan destroy Yousen bit by bit. _Against_ is definitely not the same as _with_.)

Akashi makes everything easy to understand, but that doesn't mean _he_ is easy to understand, or even that he is always right (no matter what he says).

Looking back, Kuroko realizes that Kise was right-Akashi never _did_ join them after school. He rarely joined in when it came to the team's events and affairs, either, other than to act as operating chairman (and sometimes, especially on weekends, that was by cellphone, dictating orders via speaker as Midorima held the phone up for them all to hear).

Kuroko only realizes how odd that is now, when he has a captain he can speak to at any time, a captain throwing himself headfirst into all aspects of the team and always, always there, and how _different_ that feels.

"There has to be more that you can do," is a thing Kiyoshi tells him later, and that, too, conflicts with what Kuroko knows of Akashi's teachings. "Just doing one thing isn't enough. Specialists just can't keep up in this sport."

Kuroko believes him now, more than ever, and he _wants_ to get better. The biggest shame of the situation is that Akashi isn't here to teach him _how_ to do that, and he isn't even sure that Akashi _would_.

The problem with Akashi Seijuurou is that he's still a kid. A brilliant, talented, stupidly athletic kid, but _still a kid._

It's easy to forget, when Shirogane suggests (read: smiles and insists) that Nijimura make him Vice Captain.

Akashi is polite and competent and capable and Nijimura can't find any reasons to complain about him on the court. He actually can't find any reasons to complain about him off the court, either (how are his grades that perfect when he practices so hard? how in the world does he attract that many women? it's a fucking mystery), what with how he seamlessly handles everyone and everything, smiling serenely at their coach and director and carrying out his orders to the rest of the regulars without skipping a beat.

But he's still a _kid_.

It's evident in some things-like how Akashi entirely misses the fact that girls are _confessing to him_ at times, or how a couple of times it has been boys that are stupid enough to bow at his feet and beg for him to be their bride. Nijimura put a stop to that immediately. It's for the best, because Akashi has a tendency to humor their questions (you can't just tell people what you wear to bed!) or occasionally, their whims (stop showing them you can tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue, for god's sake).

It's also evident when it doesn't quite click that Nijimura feels the urge to awkwardly sort of flirt with him, because damn it all, Akashi is as pretty as a doll and a balm to his nerves aside from that, always taking in everything he has to say and offering something _reasonable_ and _logical_ back to him when everything else seems to be falling apart around him-

Nijimura feels like a creep when he finally steals a kiss, though Akashi doesn't seem creeped out at all. He blinks, tilts his head, and slowly, his lips curve into a knowing smile.

Even if Akashi is a kid, there is no one on this earth that can make Nijimura Shuuzou feel like such a _child_.

On many levels, Akashi Seijuurou is a frustrating enigma.

Midorima isn't sure if he likes him best when they are both silent, the only noise between them the click of shogi tiles moving along the board, or if he likes them when they are snapping at each other on the court, barely functional, let alone harmonious because of a simple disagreement on plays. He is definitely sure that he doesn't like the Akashi that grabs his arm and yanks him too close for comfort when that fancy black car pulls up to pick him up after school.

"Shintarou and I have club duties to attend to," he informs his driver without batting an eye. "I absolutely can't go home right now."

"But-"

"Tell him, Shintarou."

"I… we have a lot of work to do?" Midorima weakly attempts, and with that, Akashi steers them both away, leaving his driver in the dust. "Akashi," he tries again, "we don't have anything-"

"I know. Let's just play shogi for awhile."

"But the school grounds will close soon."

"Not the gym." _Not for me either way_ is implied.

Shogi in the gym is a new one, especially with the sounds of Aomine's long, after-school practice hours constantly in their ears, but Akashi is as unfazed as always, savoring each move like he's savoring a perfectly cooked piece of sushi. Ah. Sushi. This time of day, normally he would be eating.

Eventually, it isn't the gym, but an empty classroom after school that Midorima simply finds Akashi in. "We should go eat," Midorima idly suggests, and Akashi shrugs, moving another shogi piece.

_Wait another thirty minutes._

Right. So the driver will leave, fed up with his charge. Midorima can understand that pain.

As frustrating as Akashi can be, there's an odd logic to everything that he does, and that's _soothing_. Midorima likes it when things make sense. Logically, if he practices more than anyone, he will have more experience and expertise. Logically, if he clings to every good luck charm he can get his hands on, or follows a specific ritual, that will help, too. That's a balm to his nerves that he _needs_ when the ball is in his hands, when the clock is ticking down, and _he_ is the one that will cause all of that failure if he doesn't make his shot.

When he has all of that on his side, when he has Akashi at his back, he never does miss in moments like those (or ever, nowadays).

_Good job_ is the look Akashi gives him. The next look he doesn't quite get, not until they're alone after the game, when he's bent over Akashi's shoulder to help tweak the playbook, and Akashi's head leans to the side, his cheek against Midorima's, the pressure maybe pushing his glasses out of line just a bit, and he can't help but notice how shockingly cool Akashi's skin is even after that much activity, or how soft his hair is when he should definitely be thinking about how disgusting it is for them to both be sweaty and sort of draped against one another like this-

_That's_ when Akashi tilts his head up, looks at him, smiles (more like smirks), and snatches his glasses away in one smooth motion.

"I want to see your eyelashes more clearly."

"_Why?_"

"Because they're nice, especially when you make a stressed face like that."

Midorima sort of wants to strangle him, or punch him, or anything violent if he could actually see properly enough to do it. Later, in the most obnoxious, painful of ironies, he wishes Akashi would make that same face and steal his glasses and maybe do it with a kiss added into the mix so he can taste him and that one particular brand of toothpaste that he uses. Instead, all he tastes is bitter, uncomfortable defeat, and the knowledge that Akashi seems frustratingly beyond being able to care.

"He's like a kitten that has lost its mother. He needs to be nurtured, _carefully_."

"Reo-nee," Kotarou eloquently begins, slurping on his soda in a way that makes Mibuchi want to slap him silly, "you're being weird again. That's our captain you're talking about. You know, the one that made us run laps until we all keeled over because he had some tiff with an old teammate."

"Yes, and he's like a little kitten."

"Emphasis little," Nebuya puts in with a snort. "And with claws."

"Teeth," Kotarou adds with a shudder.

Mibuchi feels his blood pressure rising already. "To hell with all of you."

The problem with Akashi Seijuurou is that he thinks himself past nurturing, and yet needs it on about a dozen different levels. Mibuchi can see it instantly, and assigns himself that role-or tries to, at least. Akashi makes it difficult, what with holing up in his dorm at every opportunity when he isn't practicing (which is often, thoroughly, and to the point of exhaustion).

"Let's not turn into a hikikomori now," Mibuchi sweetly attempts after practice one day. "At least come out to dinner with all of us tonight."

"I'll pass, thank you."

Ah, now it's a little irritating. "What if your sempai orders you to?"

Akashi looks at him for a moment with those strange, mismatched eyes. "I'll still pass."

Mibuchi refrains from grumbling about it over dinner (Nebuya will definitely give him an _I told you so_, and Kotarou just needs to go die), but he tries to coax his way into Akashi's room a few nights later with his own cooking. "I _know_ the school's food is awful," he wheedles from the doorway, glad that he managed to get a foot stuck in it when he did to keep it open. "Just eat, it's good, I promise, Sei-chan!"

Akashi eyes him one last time before sort of curtly nodding, slinking back, and curling back up in front of his laptop rather identically to a cat, even as he gnaws contemplatively on a sandwich.

Well. It's a start. "What do you _do_ all night?" Mibuchi can't help it. While he talks and Akashi eats, he has to clean a _little_. It isn't that Akashi is a slob, but he doesn't exactly keep up the perfectly neat image in private.

"I play shogi."

Mibuchi blinks over at him, pausing with a jacket slung over his arm. "Really?"

"Yes. Online, with one of my old teammates."

"You must miss them a lot. And this is the first time you've been away from home-aren't you homesick?"

Akashi pauses, his head tilting. "Not really."

Whatever. _Something_ isn't right. Mibuchi trusts his instincts on that much.

He isn't sure exactly how much until Akashi very seriously threatens to gauge out his eyes in the middle of a match, or when his face is a picture of indifference when his shogi partner (Mibuchi knows it's him, he remembers the name even if he has never seen the other boy) tries to shake his hand after their game. Mibuchi isn't sure when that became the norm over the sort of unsteady, but still _pleasant_ kid that showed up and insisted on letting him be captain for at least one game, so they could all _see_ his capabilities.

"If that's a kitten," Nebuya mutters afterwards as they scour the locker room before Akashi returns, making sure there aren't any sharp objects, "then Kotarou's a fucking genius."

"I'm a genius? Really? Thanks, Nebuya-san!"

"Kill him," Mibuchi tiredly advises. _In fact, kill me, too._

It seems like an easier way out, rather than try and fix one particular redheaded mess.


End file.
